


in a faraway city, somebody died

by viscrael



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Time Loop, au ?? idk what kind of au this is but like. defs au, blood tw, i meant to write smut and then this horrid thing popped out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 13:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3651252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viscrael/pseuds/viscrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in a faraway city, somebody died

**Author's Note:**

> i hav e no idea what kind of au this is??? this fic doesn tmake any sense and i opened the word document expecting to write smut and whoops this is defs not smut but um
> 
> yep. i dunno stuck in a time loop au with a weird magical girl feel added in. i was purposfully vague abt it b/c i have no idea what this is supposed to b lol
> 
> btw theres no actual character death?? its a bunch of implying that they r either in critical condition or that the other thinks they're going to die, but no ACTUAL death.

There’s a sick feeling that curls around your stomach when you see the blood. There’s a gasping that follows, a sharp intake of breath that resonates in your lungs behind your ribcage where your heartbeat speeds up, up, up, until you think it’s going to jump right out of your chest. And then it stops.

It stops.

It stops—

 

It starts again.

Your chest hurts.

When you wake up in the hospital, mouth dry, head full of cotton, you think it’s weird that you’re awake at all, because you shouldn’t be. You shouldn’t be awake, you should be back there with him, where he’s bleeding, where you can see the blood, where you can help him and—

There’s a tugging on your hand, someone realizing that you’re awake and letting you know that they’re there, and a doctor strides in the room looking tired but relaxed, but that does nothing to ease your worried mind, does nothing to get rid of the taste of blood that still lingers on your tongue. She prattles on about how you’re doing, your vitals, you should be cleared to go in a couple of days, you’re so lucky to be okay, Kageyama-kun, you’re a fighter, and you interrupt her with a question that makes everyone in the room stop breathing, just for a second.

There’s silence. No one moves.

You ask it again.

There comes no response this time either, and when you start going into hysterics, shouting over and over the same question, your mother pushes you back onto the hospital bed and tells you to calm down, but she hasn’t answered and the doctor hasn’t and everyone looks far too grim considering you’re doing alright.

You wish that it would stop this time, stop like it did before, but nothing does, nothing even slows down. Time barrels forward, as it always does. Time barrels forwards as it always does—

 

It starts again.

You’re being shaken awake. His grinning face pulls you out of sleep. He’s too bright, too perky for a time so early in the morning. You sit up groggily, rubbing your head, wishing he didn’t have to be so goddamn loud, but then he’s pulling you out of bed, dragging you along the carpeted floor and to the window, where he flings it open and points excitedly outside. _It’s_ _snowing_ , he says, looking a little too much like his baby sister. _It’s_ _snowing_!

Yeah, sure, why does that matter, you want to say, but he’s grinning still, tugging on your sleeve when he realizes you aren’t looking outside, pulling you to lean out the window and reach your hand forward to catch snowflakes on your palm. The chill from the window is getting to your sockless feet finally, but he’s dressed head to toe in pajamas with the bonus of a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a robe.

Can I go back to sleep now, you ask finally, and he pouts but reluctantly closes the window, padding back to your shared bed and laying down next to you. He curls up to you, leans his head against your chest, snuggling into the blankets and your warmth. _Do_ _you think it’ll stick?_ He asks, already sounding tired again, and his yawn a moment later only serves as proof. You shrug halfheartedly, an I don’t know, what does it matter, already on your tongue, but you keep it there, deciding that you don’t want to ruin his childish excitement, before leaning down a pressing your lips to his to keep those words where they belong because you can’t say them if you’re too busy kissing, can you?

He smiles against your lips and returns the kiss, mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like _I love you_ into your mouth, muffled so you can’t hear it probably. But you hear it anyway and it makes your chest warm and you’re not so cold anymore.

Your heartbeat always speeds up like this, when the two of you are doing nothing but exchanging heat leisurely, a lazy pass of the tongue over each other’s lips just for a form of contact. He giggles when you accidentally tickle his neck with your hand, and your heartbeat speeds up again, up, up, up—

 

It starts again.

Your teacher slaps a hand on your desk to wake you up, and you do so with a jolt, enough to hit your knee on the desk’s leg and cause snickers around the classroom. She gives you a look, tells you that now that you’re awake, you can pay attention, Kageyama-kun, and her expression makes it clear that that wasn’t a suggestion, so you try to swallow your embarrassment and do as she’s asked.

You don’t bother look around the classroom to see who’s still laughing at you because you can feel their eyes and their snickers, and instead you try to scribble something down on your paper that looks vaguely like notes. Even through the scratch of pencil, you can hear them, talking quietly amongst themselves.

Your paranoia spikes up. You don’t like to think that you care about what others think of you, but your behavior would say otherwise, because your cheeks are still red and you can’t stop overhearing what they’re saying to each other, something that sounds suspiciously like your name passing between quieted tongues, and you close your eyes shut and hope that it’ll stop soon enough.

When you open your eyes again, you’re met with his. How convenient that he would be looking at you at just the time you’re looking over there too, you think cynically, a little frustrated at yourself for always, always being drawn over there, but he just blinks and grins brightly at you, earning a sharp look from the teacher when she notices he’s not paying attention. He turns back around in his seat to face the front of the room and gives a polite _yes_ _ma’am_ while the kids behind you quiet themselves in favor of staring at him. After a moment, their whispers continue, but you feel just a little less worried about them—

 

It starts again.

When he manages to get in the middle of it, your blood runs cold.

It is not his responsibility to get involved, it is not his responsibility to take care of you, it is not his responsibility to care at all. He shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care. You were never meant to care, outside of being classmates maybe. He wasn’t supposed to one day show up and preoccupy every aspect of your life, wasn’t supposed to monopolize every moment of your time. Your thoughts shouldn’t be filled with him, him, him, twenty-four-seven, you shouldn’t be so frightened at the thought of him getting hurt because you’ve been teaching yourself not to care about other people for the past sixteen years and then _this_ fucking idiot comes along and this should not be happening.

He manages to hold his own, for a while, but then there’s a shot, and you only took your eyes off of him for a second but there’s blood—

 

It starts again.

He’s holding you. You’re not sure why, at first, because you’ve just woken up, you’re pretty sure, and you don’t remember falling asleep least of all with him there, but there’s a numbness in your abdomen that makes you question even having a body to begin with for a second, except when you breathe it’s ragged and painful and like a thousand knives pricking your lungs all at once.

He’s holding you, and he’s crying, and you don’t know why, because you’re hurt, sure, but you don’t think you’re dying, and you can move your arm enough to find where his is, on your cheek, and you just sort of hold it and wish you could speak up so he would look at you, but every time you open your mouth no words come out. He’s crying so hard, harder than you’ve ever seen him cry, and he’s mumbling into your shoulder, _dumbass, dumbass, come back, stupid, I need you, I love you,_ his shoulders shake, shake, shake—

 

It starts again.

You are starting to think it will always start again.


End file.
